Even the freest among us are still hostages to their natures. Even the bird can’t fly off into oblivion, lest they disrupt their migration patterns.
We stand gridlocked in our portion controlled lives and we look up at the sky. We wish that we were on passing planes. We wish for the independence of the humble geese. But even the geese have their orders. They know the lakes of their summers and the lakes of their winters. They content themselves in a temperate breeze until they feel a chill between their feathers.
Perhaps it’s not the autonomy of the birds that we should envy, it’s the contentment. Their satisfaction in having a passing zephyr and an open pond and enough to feed them. Perhaps it’s their decisiveness, to leave when a situation no longer suits them. To never linger longer than is wise. Perhaps it’s their true and steady adherence to their gut instincts. That they heed its call anytime it tells them that there’s something they must do.
We’re flighty creatures who envy their ability to abscond. They’re creatures of flight who understand the importance of being rooted in something.